


Helpless

by ThedasWitch



Series: Red and Blue [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Destroy Ending, F/M, garrus is not good at feeling useless, it's a reaper invasion bad stuff is going down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThedasWitch/pseuds/ThedasWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus has rarely ever felt helpless. But Shepard has a way of turning the galaxy upside down.</p><p>///EDIT: Tweaked a few sentences so it fits with the events of "After the War," where Ashley was the Virmire survivor.///</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of starts before the games, and extends to just after ME3, but the bulk of it is the game ending.

There have been very few times in his life that Garrus Vakarian has ever felt  _ helpless _ .

The first time red tape had blocked him from stopping a man he  _ knew _ was guilty; he’d felt it then. Like all his training and skill and effort meant nothing at all. The man had been caught eventually, but not before claiming one more victim. A victim that might’ve gone on living for decades more if Garrus had been allowed to act. He’d hated that feeling, hated knowing that he could’ve helped people if there hadn’t been so many damned rules getting in his way. Remembering that moment, and the others like it that followed in his years at C-Sec, had made going with Shepard an easy decision to make. It felt like freedom, being able to act as the situation called for, without waiting for half a dozen superiors to approve every move he made. Even when they were done hunting Saren, when he left the Normandy and tried going back to work on the Citadel, he’d felt lighter.

He’d felt helpless, again, when he found out that the Normandy had been shot down. That Shepard had been shot down. Even though he knew that his presence probably wouldn’t have been enough to save her, he still felt like he should’ve been there, should’ve been able to do  _ something _ .

Should’ve been able to tell her how much she’d meant to him, at the very least.

Then he was on Omega, and he was finally getting back a sense of control, leading his men and actually making a dent in the crime that seemed to be everywhere. Until Sidonis’s betrayal, where he was helpless again, unable to see through the ruse or act fast enough to save his men. He couldn’t even hunt down the traitor and avenge them. In a way, it felt right that he should go down fighting, not far from where his men had done the same. At least then he was doing something, and maybe he’d take enough of the mercs down with him to cripple the organizations for a long while after he was gone.

But he didn’t die on Omega. He was saved by a ghost with an assault rifle, the one person he’d never expected to see until he ended up in whatever heaven was waiting for human Spectres and Turian vigilantes. Shepard came with a mission, and just like that he had purpose again. A way to actually do something that mattered, just like the good old days on the SR-1.

Well, not just like them. This time, he was the one who came to Shepard’s cabin in the night, interspecies awkwardness forgotten while they “blew off steam” in the best possible way. This time, he realized that she was more than his best friend, more than a soldier he looked up to. This time, Shepard was  _ his _ , and he was hers.

Knowing that made leaving the Normandy easier. Garrus was frustrated when the Alliance seized the ship, furious that they couldn’t see that she’d had no other choice but to blow the Alpha relay, but this time he didn’t feel helpless. The Turian Hierarchy was finally ready to listen to the warnings he and Shepard had been giving for three years, and, token task force or not, he felt like he was actually doing something. He missed her, desperately, but he knew that if anyone could find a way out of the situation and back into the fight, it was Shepard.

  
  
  


But then came the invasion on Palaven. And on Manae, Garrus watched Palaven burn. He realized then that, skilled as he was, there wasn’t a single thing within his power to do that could even put a scratch on the enemies they faced. Even seeing Shepard again--and  _ Spirits _ , was it good to see that woman--didn’t help the crushing weight of the lives that were lost every day on his home while they were forced to make nice with politicians.

Fighting the Reapers helped. Working with Shepard, with Tali, Ashley, and Liara, it felt a little bit like it used to, like it was them against the galaxy, but this time they had the resources and support to make a real difference. The Crucible was coming together, and after months of running errands, making threats, and gritting her teeth through negotiations, Shepard somehow managed to get every race in the galaxy to fight at their backs. Garrus didn’t know if they’d survive the final assault, but at this point he thought only an idiot would bet against Shepard.

Of course, things started to go wrong as soon as they landed on Earth. Shepard’s team fought their way through wave after wave of husks and Reapers, only to be nearly crushed by one of their own tanks, sent flying by a Reaper beam. 

He tried not to see the irony in the fact that, after so many times fearing for his life in a Mako with Shepard at the wheel, it was one she wasn’t even driving that finally managed to put him out of commission.

And now Garrus was helpless  _ again _ , limping onto the Normandy while Shepard went on to the beam. He didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t promised to come back. More than ever before, he felt useless, sitting in the med bay while the only woman he’d ever loved was facing off with whatever last defense the Reapers were throwing at her.

Garrus heard the shouts of triumph over comms when she managed to open the arms of the Citadel, then of confusion and despair when, for a few long minutes, nothing happened. He limped his way to the CIC, where Traynor was doing everything she could to get some information on what was actually happening. He waited for what seemed like hours, waited for orders, for answers. 

Then a blast of energy fired from the Crucible, and in the chaos that came in reaction, Garrus had a few glimpses of the vids from the assembled fleets.

Vids of Sovereign-class Reapers, powering down mid-attack. Vids of Reaperd forces on the ground collapsing without taking a hit.

Vids of the Citadel, large chunks breaking off and falling out of orbit to the planet below. 

Even in the middle of the celebrations starting to break out, he couldn’t help but imagine Shepard on every one of those falling sections of debris, drifting through space again, but this time with no Cerberus to find and revive her.

The thoughts were harder to banish the longer they went without hearing anything, and soon people started to murmur, things about a  _ heroic sacrifice _ and a  _ noble death _ . And Garrus was totally, completely helpless.

  
  
  


Somehow he had found his way to the mess, gazing blankly into the cup of something hot someone had set in front of him. As if from a distance, he heard Liara confer with Ashley and Joker about “making arrangements.” About the memorial wall that seemed to laugh at him from its place in front of the elevator.

They put up Anderson’s name first. Ashley, as the highest-ranking Alliance member on board, putting it carefully into place in the center, under the Alliance crest. She said something about Anderson’s commitment to humanity, his tenacity fighting the Reapers, his pride in the Normandy and her crew. 

Truthfully Garrus didn’t really hear any of it. He was too busy staring at the nameplate Liara had pressed into his hands.  _ Commander Shepard _ . It seemed too small to represent everything she was. Everything she used to be. Not just to him, but to the galaxy that now owed her everything. And if he did nothing else with what was left of his life, he was going to make damn sure they remembered that.

He realized that Ashley had stopped speaking, and that everyone was staring at him expectantly, with mixtures of sadness and pity on all of their faces.

He took a step forward, wiped an invisible speck of dust off of the plaque he clutched like a lifeline. No words came out when he tried to speak. But then again, he didn’t know that there  _ were _ words for this, in any language.

The ship’s comm chimed to life, EDI’s voice coming over the system. “I apologize for the interruption,” she said, “but there’s something you all need to hear.” 

Garrus was opening his mouth to demand why she thought  _ now _ was an appropriate time to give a status report, when he heard it: ragged breathing, distorted by interference. And a voice. One that he’d recognize anywhere, from a hundred firefights and dozens of nights spent together. “This… is Commander Shepard. Broadcasting on all channels…” her voice was weak, interrupted by hacking coughs, but it was  _ hers _ and it was  _ there _ . “Time… unknown. Location… unknown. Somewhere…” she drew in a long, shaky breath, “somewhere on the Citadel. Condition… not great. But alive. Repeat, I am alive.”

She repeated the same message several times, EDI leaving the comm line open as the crew went into a frenzy of activity. In just a few minutes, Ashley, Tali and Liara were all on comms with their people, trying to pinpoint the signal, to set up a rescue team as soon as possible. One of Liara’s Shadowbroker agents got ahold of Miranda, transporting her to the best hospital facility available to wait on standby. The Quarian fleet was ready to bring in any supplies she needed to restore Shepard once again, and an Alliance emergency team was dispatched to the source of Shepard’s signal. A squadron of Turian fighters volunteered as escorts for the medical transport that would be rescuing her.

And Garrus, once again, was left helpless, not able to do a thing to speed up or assist with the rescue. The ship was too far away to make it to the Citadel quickly, their shuttles not equipped with what was needed to get her out and keep her alive. All they could do was monitor the rescuers over comm, listen to Shepard still gasping out her message, and make their way to the hospital as quickly as possible to await her arrival.

He sat with the rest of Shepard’s people in the waiting room, perched on one of the molded plastic chairs that were clearly not designed for anxious Turians. He waited as they brought her in, as Miranda and a team of surgeons did their job. They wouldn’t let him--or any non-medical personnel, for that matter--in the room, so he was forced to rely on reports that one of the doctors gave every few hours.

Extensive physical trauma, they said. Her Cerberus implants had staved off the beginnings of infection, but even the Illusive Man’s tech and Miranda’s expertise could only do so much. Broken bones, internal bleeding, lacerations from falling debris. Even with his admittedly limited knowledge of human anatomy and medicine, Garrus knew that none of what they said was good.

But this was  _ Shepard _ , and so as awful as the waiting was, he believed that she would make it through this, too.

He had to believe it.

  
  
  


After seventeen long hours--seventeen hours of waiting, of sleeplessness, of ignoring the dextro rations someone had found for him--Miranda herself finally entered the room, still in medical scrubs. Garrus straightened in the seat, nudging Tali, who at some point had fallen asleep leaning on his arm, and waited for Miranda to speak.

The woman was more exhausted and less put-together than he’d ever seen her, with her hair in an untidy bun and dark circles under her eyes marring her flawless complexion. But she was smiling. “She’s going to make it,” she said. “It wasn’t easy, and she’ll need time to recover, but she’s awake, and she’s coherent. A few of you can go see her now, but…”

Garrus didn’t hear the rest of what she said, already halfway out of his chair by the time she spoke. He stormed through the doors to the hallway, exhaustion forgotten as he made his way to Shepard’s hospital room. One of the guards at the door almost tried to stop him, but the other--one of the women who had been stationed at the Normandy’s war room--waved him through and whispered something to her companion.

He stopped in the doorway, taking a moment to look at Shepard before she noticed him watching. She looked… tiny, in the sterile hospital bed. She was propped up by pillows, her red hair fanning out beneath her head. Nearly every bit of skin he could see was covered in either bruises or bandages, and even under her thin blanket he could make out a bulky cast on one leg.

But she was there, in one piece, and, most importantly,  _ alive _ .

She turned her head at the sigh of relief he gave, smiling weakly when she saw him. The right side of her face was nearly covered by ugly scrapes and deep purple bruising, and there was a line of stitches curving from the edge of her brow to just past her cheekbone. But her eyes were as bright as ever, even with one surrounded by battered flesh. He took a few steps closer, almost afraid that a sudden movement would make her disappear.

“You look like shit, Vakarian,” she said, her voice hoarse.

He laughed at that, crossing the rest of the distance to stand at her side. And if the laugh sounded a little bit like a sob, she didn’t mention it.

“Look who’s talking, Shepard,” Garrus replied, and gently took her unbandaged hand in one of his.

“You should see the other guy.” And she was still bloodied and bruised, but the crooked, cocky way she grinned up at him was undeniably  _ Shepard _ , and he practically collapsed into the chair beside her bed. She pointed at the injured side of her face. “Look,” she said, “we match.” And he laughed again, not caring that this time it was definitely watery.

She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could--and he tried not to think about how much stronger that squeeze should’be been--and listened as he told her about what had happened after they’d parted, that the crew were all alive, all waiting to see her, that the ship was in one piece and the Reapers were disabled. She didn’t say much, seemed too exhausted to do more than smile and squeeze his hand periodically, but she was awake and clear-headed enough to listen. He rambled on about everything he could think of, and sometime between telling her that Vega had cried when they’d heard her message, though he denied it, and describing how loud Tali snored, even through her mask, she drifted off to sleep. 

He panicked for a moment when her grip on his hand relaxed, but a nurse who was monitoring her life signs assured him that there was nothing wrong, and that the sleep would do her good. Garrus refused to leave her side, even when one of her doctors tried to usher him out. But apparently someone important enough to give orders backed him up, because after a little while a Turian-style cot was brought in and set up less than a foot away from Shepard’s bed.

He stayed there, at her side, for as long as she was there, only leaving for quick showers or when his family managed to get a comm through. Even then, he made sure someone he trusted was with her, and he was never gone for more than half an hour. When the hospital staff brought in meals for her, they also brought a tray of dextro food for him. Their friends visited, a few at a time, whenever they could, bringing small gifts and stories about the beginnings of the rebuilding effort.

The galaxy still seemed to still be reeling; the Mass Relays had gone dark for about seven Earth-days in the wake of the Crucible blast, then had started come back on with no warning, one by one. Some of them had taken damage, but the relay system was on its way back to being fully operational. Most civilizations seemed to be focused on cleaning out the remains of Reaper forces and securing safe places for their people; true reconstruction of what they’d lost would take a few months to get underway.

Shepard didn’t like to talk about what she’d seen and done after entering the beam to the Citadel. But after a few days, she started opening up a little when the two of them were alone. From what they could piece together, they figured what she’d seen had been some kind of security protocol programmed into the Citadel itself, a last-ditch effort by the Reapers to turn her away from her goal. The consequences she’d feared hadn’t seemed to come true, other than the Mass Relays shutting down, but even that had been temporary. Her cybernetics were still working, EDI was still running the Normandy, and the few messages they’d gotten from Rannoch showed that the geth were still functioning and helping the Quarians reclaim their home. More than anything, Garrus wished that he’d been there to help her through her encounter with whatever the child had been, instead of waiting on the Normandy and feeling helpless.

And Garrus still felt helpless, whenever the pain medication didn’t cover the worst of her aches, or when the doctors gave each other concerned looks over Shepard’s chart. But Shepard was making progress, recovering along with the rest of the galaxy.

  
And Garrus was by her side, every step of the way.


End file.
